By Tam Music 
About the song
Tom Jones – Live On Soundstage, 2017 (FULL SHOW): The Lion Still Roars
At 77 years old, most singers would be content to rest on their legacy. But not Tom Jones. In 2017, when he stepped onto the Soundstage in Chicago for a full concert taping, the Welsh powerhouse reminded the world why he remains one of music’s most electrifying survivors. Dressed in a black suit that shimmered under amber lights, his presence filled the room before he even sang a note. And when he did, the walls seemed to shake.
“You don’t retire from soul,” Jones joked to the audience. “It’s like breathing. When I stop singing, I stop living.”
A Legend Reignited
The Soundstage performance wasn’t just a nostalgic showcase — it was a declaration of vitality. Tom Jones delivered a setlist that stretched across six decades, weaving together the wild fire of the 1960s with the wisdom of a man who’s lived every lyric he’s ever sung. Backed by a tight, brassy band, he launched into “It’s Not Unusual” with a grin that instantly transported fans back to his Vegas prime.
But the real electricity came from his reinvention of songs. His blues-infused renditions of “Soul of a Man”, “Evil”, and “Burning Hell” pulsed with raw, gospel-tinged fury. Each note carried the grit of a man who had seen heartbreak, loss, and redemption — and turned them into sound.
A Voice That Time Couldn’t Touch
Many wondered if the years had dulled his range. The answer was clear within seconds: Tom Jones’s voice had grown deeper, richer, almost elemental. When he tackled Leonard Cohen’s “Tower of Song”, his baritone rolled through the studio like thunder. Audience members wiped away tears, visibly moved by the emotional gravity he brought to every word.
“He sings like he’s lived a thousand lives,” said producer Ken Ehrlich, who was in the control room that night. “You can hear every cigarette, every heartbreak, every triumph in that voice — and it’s still pure gold.”
Indeed, this wasn’t the swaggering Jones of the 1960s, tossing silk scarves to screaming fans. This was an elder statesman of soul — weathered, wise, but still burning from within. His command of silence was as powerful as his sound; at times he leaned into the microphone and let the quiet carry the meaning.
Behind the Curtain
The Soundstage production, filmed in stunning high definition, was designed to strip away the glitz and get to the heart of Tom Jones the artist. Minimal staging, warm spotlights, and a live band setup gave the night a sense of intimacy rarely seen in televised concerts.
Between songs, he spoke candidly about his journey — the early days in Pontypridd, the explosion of fame, his long marriage to Melinda Trenchard, and the grief that followed her passing in 2016.
“Music got me through it,” he told the hushed crowd. “I sing for her every night.”
That confession turned his next song, “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” into something transcendent. It wasn’t just performance; it was prayer. The audience stood in silence, visibly trembling, before erupting into applause that felt more like gratitude than fandom.
The Fire Still Burns
The 2017 Soundstage concert was also a celebration of Tom’s late-career revival. Following his acclaimed albums Praise & Blame (2010) and Long Lost Suitcase (2015), this performance reaffirmed his creative resurgence. His collaborations with producer Ethan Johns had re-anchored his sound in the roots of blues, gospel, and country — and live, that fusion exploded into something primal.
When he tore into “Delilah”, the decades seemed to melt away. The horns blared, the audience clapped in rhythm, and Jones prowled the stage like a man half his age. Yet moments later, he would bring the entire room to silence again with “Did Trouble Me”, a haunting reflection on mortality and faith.
A Farewell? Or a Rebirth?
For fans, Live on Soundstage felt like both a victory lap and a promise. Watching the silver-haired legend command the microphone, it was impossible not to wonder how long he could keep this fire alive. But Tom Jones himself brushed off such speculation with a wink.
“As long as I can make a sound, I’ll make it count,” he told the audience with a grin. “And if you hear me stop, don’t clap — just come find me.”
The show ended with “Kiss,” the Prince hit he’d made his own decades earlier. His hips still moved. His grin still dazzled. And his voice — that impossibly defiant, volcanic voice — still roared like it did in 1965.
As the credits rolled, the crowd didn’t disperse. They stayed, clapping and chanting his name. Because deep down, everyone in that Chicago studio knew they had just witnessed something rare — a living legend proving, once again, that time bends for no one… except Tom Jones.